


Hold Back the Night

by babywarg (morphaileffect)



Series: Ironstrange Bingo [16]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drama, M/M, Oblivious Stephen Strange, One Shot, Romance, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphaileffect/pseuds/babywarg
Summary: Tony wakes up from a dream of a future that never happened. The very first thing he’s compelled to do is arrange a romantic date with a man he's never met.





	Hold Back the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the shameless flood of sentimental music I suffered while out of town.
> 
> Also inspired by [this post](https://silent-night-for-me.tumblr.com/post/183886704604/ironstrange-headcanon) by silent-night-for-me on Tumblr. I couldn’t make a fic that followed it exactly, I’m sorry T_T I would love to read a fic that does right by the post, though, because it comes with a lovely premise!
> 
> Set shortly before the events of Infinity War, and uses IW quotes liberally, but pretends Pepper and Tony never got together and aren’t going to get married soon. I’m sorry. I AM a Pepperony fan, for the record!! I just feel like I have to warn people of that before they proceed to the fic.
> 
> Also, this fic WILL rag on the one tiny part of Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect” that bugs me XD Sorry again. For being petty, this time.
> 
> The restaurant I had in mind was [Eleven Madison Park](https://www.elevenmadisonpark.com), but feel free to imagine your own fancypants location.
> 
> A few extremely sappy songs to listen to while reading:
> 
> [Coles Corner - Richard Hawley](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2U9BZVh3FM8) (seriously, this was the _one song_ I had playing in my head while thinking of Tony in a fancy suit with a huge bouquet of flowers in one arm. The fic's title also came from its lyrics.)
> 
> [On the Street Where You Live - Dean Martin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gs65pSEA-VE)
> 
> [Perfect - Ed Sheeran (violin cover by Andre Soueid)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b9v96HD_3_U)
> 
> [James Taylor - If I Keep My Heart Out of Sight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x3eg1R4lRTI)
> 
> For the Ironstrange Bingo entry "Memory."

Tony Stark woke up, thoroughly exhausted, from a very long dream.

The dream was fast fleeing his consciousness, until there were only three things left in his brain.

He repeated them over and over, to keep them in his head longer:

1) Flowers.

He knew nothing about them.

Except that he had to get some.

He’d always trusted his stylists to pick out flowers for him, if they were absolutely necessary. Attending a wedding? A funeral? Sending “get well soon” flowers to random hospitalized people? They’d know best.

But there was one thing he knew about the bouquet he had to get...

It had to have forget-me-nots.

Blue ones.

Non-negotiable.

He called his stylists with this information, and trusted they would put together the perfect bouquet in time for 7 PM that evening.

2) Reservations at a posh restaurant.

He had to swallow his pride and ask Pepper for help with this one.

He really didn’t want to bother Pepper with this. But Tony was a Burger King kind of guy. He had never _needed_ to personally set up a romantic rendezvous before, much less needed to _impress_ anyone he wanted to go with.

Meanwhile, Pepper had a hook on each of the best places, as she handled his social calendar. All he had to do was ask her where to go, if he wanted to take someone out to somewhere nice.

First, she had to blink, and ask, “As in, a _date_?”

He said Yeah a date, and after a befuddled pause, she said Okay...

Then, she said the name of a restaurant. It was going to be hell and a half to make a dinner reservation there on short notice, she said, but Make it happen, he said to her.

Finally, she sighed a long-suffering sigh and made it happen.

3) 177A Bleecker Street, Greenwich Village.

This, he had to say over and over to himself. This was the weirdest, most specific thing in his head, and he wasn’t about to let go of it.

In spite of having been New York born and bred, he had not been to that part of town _ever_ , and he wasn’t sure what to expect.

But he was ready for the novel and weird. He was certain of that, at least.

***

At exactly 7 PM that day, Tony found himself standing in front of a perfectly ordinary brownstone on a perfectly ordinary street.

Finely dressed, bouquet of flowers in one arm, unusually nervous, he stood poised to ring the doorbell.

The plaque below the doorbell said “177A Bleecker St.” He wasn’t sure why the sight of the perfectly normal plaque disappointed him.

He had expected it to be...more magical, maybe.

But then, he wasn’t here for the building; he was here for the person who lived inside it.

And as for that, a part of him was already prepared for their first meeting.

It burst into a mess of colors inside his chest as soon as the door opened.

Blue eyes with flecks of brilliant green froze him where he stood.

_Gorgeous. Jesus God._

He felt like his heart, freshly recovering from an operation to make it independent of an inorganic power source, was trying to fly out, and he had to physically restrain himself from dropping the flowers in his arms and enveloping the taller man in a crushing hug.

“Tony Stark,” the silken voice very reluctantly greeted. “I think you must have the wrong house.”

“I disagree,” Tony confidently answered. “Strange, right? Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange. I need you to come with me.”

Stephen squinted. Glanced at the flowers Tony had cradled in one arm.

“Oh, these are for you.” Tony handed them over, then gestured to the flashy limousine parked nearby. “And if you’ll take a ride with me, I’ll explain what they’re for.”

Stephen asked him where they were going. Tony said the name of the restaurant.

Saturnine eyebrows rose over the crowd of red roses and blue forget-me-nots. “Now? We’re going _now?_ I’m not dressed.”

“What you have on is fine,” Tony assured him. And it was. A casual sports jacket, a gray t-shirt and slacks? That was perfect. “And please don’t say no - I owe my assistant my lifelong gratitude for managing this reservation on short notice, and I don’t think she can reschedule.”

Stephen’s brow furrowed. He looked like he was trying to peer into Tony’s thoughts.

Tony actually welcomed it, if the good doctor was actually capable of reading minds. Would be nice for one of them to have an idea _why_ exactly Tony was doing all this.

But it didn’t seem as if that was the case. That, or Tony’s fuzzy dream-based thoughts didn’t make much sense, either.

“I presume this is about Avengers business?” Stephen ventured.

“Mm, sure,” Tony replied. “The business of saving the world. Or something.”

“And I presume you’re paying?”

Tony smirked.

“Call me old-fashioned,” he retorted, “but I grew up with the belief that the person who brings the flowers pays for the date.”

The word “date” made Stephen start a bit, but it seemed that ultimately, nothing could ruffle the man’s feathers.

“All right, Mr. Stark,” he eventually said, glancing down at the bouquet he was holding. “Let me just put these in water, and I’ll be right out.”

***

“Call me Tony, please,” Tony said, the second time Stephen used “Mr. Stark” on him.

Tony pulled the chair for Stephen. Which made the taller man’s eyebrow rise. But he shrugged, and took the offered seat with a gracious nod.

“So this really is a date,” Stephen remarked absently, looking around at the posh surroundings...notably not impressed.

“The flowers really didn’t clue you in?” Tony asked, disbelieving.

“A friend named Wong is usually the one who receives visitors,” Stephen explained. “He’s out tonight, but I thought at first that you'd brought the flowers for him.”

“Do people usually go to your house bringing flowers for Wong?” Tony asked. “Guy must have a rockin’ social life.”

“People like Wong and myself have our ways of keeping busy, Mr. St--Tony.”

For a moment, Tony wondered if he should be jealous of this Wong fellow. Whoever he was, he lived with this handsome specimen - whom Tony had just met for the first time, but felt like he had known forever.

Still, hearing Stephen call him “Tony” for the first time - it was enough to draw him out of his thoughts.

“What exactly _are_ people like you and Wong?” he asked.

“Not prophets,” was the straightforward answer. “So we aren’t always aware of when and _why_ people come to our house bringing flowers.”

“No, I mean - you’re not - really - together, you and Wong? Like, a couple?”

A flicker of amusement in those brilliant eyes, now gray under the soft light. “No. If we were, would I have gone on a date with you?”

Okay. Question answered.

...And did that sound like flirting? It _was_ flirting, yes?

Tony cleared his throat, decided that he was just a bit too anxious to play around right now.

“But you’re a doctor, right? I mean, I googled you. That’s how I got your address.” (A lie, technically: he had the address in his head first, THEN he googled - or, more accurately, scoured Fury's intel files for - who lived in it. Weirdly, the residents of that building weren't exactly googleable.) “Is your friend Wong a doctor, too?”

Stephen tilted his head briefly to one side and ignored that last question.

“Did you look me up because you needed a doctor? If that’s the case, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’m still licensed, but I don’t offer medical services anymore.”

Stephen held up his scarred hands. They were lightly, but visibly, shaking.

Tony fought the impulse to grab those long-fingered hands, try to still them with his own.

Like he felt he’d done so many times before.

He didn’t do that. Instead, he coolly followed up with: “Google also said you’ve been out of practice for over a year. But I hope you still consult?”

“Depends on what needs consulting,” Stephen said calmly, as he brought his hands back down to the tabletop.

Tony played with the idea of coming up with a fake illness. Something that might keep a renowned neurosurgeon like Stephen interested. Something that had to do with the brain.

But in the end, he decided on the truth. No need to draw it out. If this “date” was going to be a disaster because he was going to say something truly, terribly weird, it was best to lay it out at the onset.

He needed help. _Stephen’s_ help. It was the truth.

And maybe the unexplainable thoughts he clung to, the words in his head, the feelings that were plaguing him, really _did_ have something to do with the brain.

“Listen,” Tony began quietly, “I had a dream. It was so real.”

***

_If we get out of this alive...we’re going to start over._

_If we get out of this all right, I’m taking you out on a proper date._

_Scratch that - a_ mindblowing _date._

_I’m going to make up for all the times we had to watch each other’s backs, instead of just killing time together. All the times we talked strategy and shop, instead of talking about our hopes and dreams, what we want out of a relationship, how we can move in with each other and not tear each other’s throats out..._

_We’ll go through the awkward courtship phase. We’re going to do it. All of it. All of the silly, stupid things we missed out on because of this ridiculous war._

_And all the wounds and scars and traumas we’ve lived through - we’re going to wash it all away._

_We’re going to fall in love with each other properly. We’re going to make the pain all worth it. I’m going to wine and dine the_ shit _out of you, Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange. You just see if I don’t._

***

There was a long, tense silence after Tony finished speaking.

At the end of it, Stephen said slowly: “You dreamed that we were together.”

Tony took a sip of the wine in front of him. Good wine.

“And that we tried to save the universe together, but failed,” Stephen continued.

It wasn’t an inaccurate summary of the barely coherent blabbering Tony had subjected him to...but Tony still felt like he was understating things, a bit.

“Well, that explains the flowers,” Stephen sighed. And it wrecked Tony inside that he couldn’t read the emotions behind that sigh.

“I know it was weird, but it felt natural. Like it was something I _had_ to do,” Tony justified. “Bring you flowers. Get a limo. Take you out to somewhere nice. The whole shebang.”

“I don’t want to sound unappreciative,” Stephen said, a touch of humor softening the edges of his voice, “but hearing that you just went on a date with me because of a _dream_ you had...well, it kind of kills the mood a bit.”

Okay, Tony did _not_ need to hear that. His anxiety was already starting to act up, and that just stoked it some more.

As was Tony’s way when he felt cornered and hopeless and running out of air, he kept talking.

“No, but let’s focus on the dream,” he demanded. “It felt significant. _Still feels_ significant. We’ve never met, but it brought me to your doorstep. It must mean something. Could it be a premonition?”

That last word seemed to intrigue the man for a bit. He probably knew all about premonitions. But not in a scientific capacity.

Tony wasn’t sure how he could tell that about him, but he could. He was not aware of Stephen’s other preoccupations besides the medical practice he’d abandoned, other possible ways of making a living, of “consulting.”

But he could tell.

“Dreams usually symbolize things that bother you. They’re your restless brain trying to tell you things that you need to resolve. For all we know, it was all just an elaborate coincidence.” Stephen rested his elbows on the tabletop, linked his fingers in front of his face. “How much of that dream do you remember?”

“Not a lot,” Tony truthfully confessed. “I remember...feelings, mostly. Words, sometimes...”

_And I remember your face. How light your touch was, even if your fingers trembled. Your voice saying comforting things. Your smile as you turned away._

“...and little details. Like, we were at war, yes? You somehow looked into the many ways the war could wind up. You had like 14 million scenarios in your head.” Tony ran a hand through his hair. “Right now I have only _one_ , and it’s driving me insane. Because I’m not even sure it really happened. Or if I’d dreamed it all.”

Stephen sat up in alarm.

“I was able to see many different futures in your dream?” he asked softly.

Tony answered, “Well...yeah. You were a magic user. Of some kind. Didn’t I mention that?”

Oops. He probably didn’t.

It seemed to fluster the taller man for a bit. For the first time that evening.

And Tony wondered if he should apologize. But he also enjoyed seeing that he wasn’t the only nervous party at this table.

Then something happened. Tony wasn’t sure what it was at first. Stephen’s facial muscles relaxed. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, it's just,” Stephen gestured helplessly to empty air, “this damn song."

Tony blinked. He finally paid attention to the song that was playing discreetly over the restaurant’s speakers.

It was a violin instrumental. A familiar one.

It was a famous melody. A Billboard chart-topper. “Perfect,” wasn’t it? By that redheaded British dude?

“Oh...yeah,” he sheepishly acknowledged. “The restaurant staff asked me if I wanted to play anything specific. I said I didn’t really care. They bugged me for at least one title, and I came up with this.”

“You really asked for this song,” Stephen asked, almost disbelieving.

“Yeah,” Tony naively confessed. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Stephen said with a smirk. “But I sometimes yell ‘This damn song again!!’ at the top of my lungs when strains of it enter my house.”

“That’s funny,” Tony grunted. “I don’t have a lot of love for this song, either. I just thought of it because it’s famous. I mean, why would anyone think it was sexy to say you were dancing in the dark with - ”

“ - you _between_ my arms,” they both finished.

In the comfortable pause that followed, Tony softly smiled. “I guess that part of it bugs you, too?”

“A bit,” Stephen admitted. “It gives me this hilarious mental image of -“

“- a guy dancing with his arms out, and a girl standing between them -” Tony continued.

“- while he does this goofy dance around her,” Stephen finished, chuckling in agreement.

The chuckle went all the way up to his eyes, the deep wrinkles on their edges. And the moody lighting of the restaurant made the angles of his lean face softer, removed any harshness from his features.

 _I love you,_ Tony wanted to say just then.

***

_Tony._

_Forgive me._

_There’s only one reality where we win. This isn’t it._

_This was the one reality I decided to pursue because I wanted a future with you._

_There was a chance...just a very slim chance...that this would work, but the odds weren’t worth the risk._

_I’m sorry._

_I wanted to give it a shot...had to see if we could save everyone and be happy together._

_I asked the universe for a prize, and it told me no._

_Forget me._

_No. Don’t say it. Don’t say you’ll never forget._

_This reality will come to you as if it were a dream, if it will come to you at all._

_When you wake up, in the past, it would not have happened._

_None of this._

_None of us._

_There’s one way to save the universe, Tony. The only way. And it will involve sacrifice on your part._

_A sacrifice you don’t have to know anything about, for now._

_I love you._

_So I’m going to do something that will help us start over._

_And once we start over, we’ll have so little time._

_All I want is that you’ll spend it being happy._

_Even without me._

***

They didn’t end up talking about dreams any more at the restaurant. They talked about their own lives, the things they liked, the things they both hated (which, surprisingly, ended up being _a lot_ ), how they each liked their coffee, and many other more pleasant things.

By the end of the evening, it really did seem like a proper date.

But the subject of dreams came up again as they were on the ride home. They sat a good few feet apart inside the limo, feeling each other out from a distance.

It was far less intimate than Tony’s many other dates had gone, but he was fine taking this one slow. It mattered too much.

Anyway, slow was good. Square one was still better than zero. At this point anything, anything was better than never.

“I haven’t been completely honest,” Stephen carefully said. “The truth is, dreams mean something different to...people like myself. It’s possible that your dream has other dimensions, beyond resolutions and regrets. But I doubt we could have explored all of them tonight.”

“Yeah?” Tony lazily answered. “I was hoping I could invite you back to my place for a nightcap. Maybe we could discuss it further there.”

So much for taking it slow.

Stephen met his gaze and smiled knowingly.

“My house is one that can’t be left unattended for long,” he said to Tony, in a low tone that almost seemed apologetic. “Maybe some other time.”

_So little time._

The memory of these words from his dream put a sense of urgency back into Tony, though he didn’t know what they meant.

He just suddenly felt that time was in limited supply, and he wanted to spend all of it with this man.

“This is me,” Stephen muttered as the car slowed down. Tony secretly cursed the restaurant they went to for being just a ten-minute drive away from 177A Bleecker St.

But as Stephen was reaching for the door, he leaned across to Tony.

And kissed him on the cheek.

The sudden, unexpected gesture made Tony freeze.

It felt familiar and unfamiliar, all at once.

“Thank you for an enjoyable evening,” Stephen said softly, then opened the door and stepped out of the car without further ceremony.

He shut the car door and walked up the building’s low steps. Tony almost didn’t get his bearings in time.

“You have my number, right?” Tony called after him. “I’ll be waiting for your call. Don’t forget.”

Stephen looked at him again.

“I have flowers at home that won’t let me forget,” he said reassuringly. “Good night, Tony.”

He smiled as he turned away.

This was it, Tony said to himself. This feeling.

This was him being happy.

And resisting fate to keep a promise he could not even remember making.


End file.
